


Stranded

by Misdemeanor1331



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, F/M, Married Life, Minister for Magic Hermione Granger, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Work-Life Balance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misdemeanor1331/pseuds/Misdemeanor1331
Summary: Minister Granger doesn’t take holidays. Unspeakable Malfoy intends to change that, regardless of her opinion on the matter.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 23
Kudos: 102
Collections: Dramione Valentine Exchange





	Stranded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Somandalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somandalicious/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneValentineExchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneValentineExchange) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Stranded on a deserted island.  
> Written for the 2021 Dramione Valentine Exchange for Somandalicious. Somandalicious, I had so many ideas for this prompt that it was hard to settle on one. I hope you like what I went with!
> 
> No beta; we die like men! All mistakes are my own.

**Stranded**

Draco Malfoy strode into the Minister’s office without knocking. The Minister’s assistant—a lovely and efficient young girl named Coraline—half rose from her chair, an admonishment poised on her lips. A scolding that sputtered as Draco passed her a small, brown box tied with a silver ribbon.

“I trust that will earn me next month’s schedule?” 

“We’re square through March,” Coraline confirmed, settling back into her chair. 

“Grand. And she is indeed free?” 

“As she can be.” The assistant’s words were muffled by a mouthful of chocolate, but her skepticism came through clearly. “ _Good luck_.” 

After a steadying breath, Draco pushed open the office’s inner sanctum. It was worse than usual. The Minister herself was not visible, dwarfed from the waist down by her massive desk and concealed from the waist up by unfurled scrolls, which hung suspended around her. No music played: a bad sign. All he heard was the furious scratch of a quill. 

He hesitated. Draco had sworn to see this through regardless of the Minister’s protestations, though he thought she’d be significantly less occupied. How else could he have interpreted an hour-long appointment entitled _Free Time_? 

He cleared his throat; her quill paused. 

“Coraline, great timing. Could you copy this and send one each to the Ministers of France, Germany, and Italy? I’d like to align on these climate measures as a bloc before we involve North America. You know how intractable they can be. And, oh—”

Hermione Granger peeked out from behind her wall of paperwork. Her composure wavered only a moment before returning with a snap. 

“I don’t recall you making an appointment.” 

“Hermione, I’m your _husband_.” 

A pretty flush crawled up her neck and into her cheeks. They’d only been married for two years; it sometimes still surprised her. 

“It’s nice to see you,” she conceded. “Now, how can I help you?” 

Draco bit back a grin and, with an exaggerated twist of his hand, withdrew what appeared to be a snow globe from the ether. He held it forward, an offering that Hermione assessed with narrowed, skeptical eyes. Draco wondered what she saw. For him, the globe contained a remote mountain chalet blanketed with a thick layer of snow. Smoke curled from the chalet’s chimney, and he knew without seeing that the bar was stocked and the bed was soft. It was his version of paradise, and one day, Hermione would see it, too. 

But not today. Today was about her version, if he could convince her to go. 

Hermione’s eyes flicked to his. “What is it?” 

“A gift.” 

“What kind of gift?” 

“One you’ll enjoy.” 

“What does it do?”

A prick of ire added heat to his answer. “Like me, it’s only here to help.” 

“ _How_?” 

He sighed. “Is it too much to ask for your trust?” 

She chewed her lip in lieu of answering directly. “At least tell me where it came from.” 

“Me,” he answered. “I made it.” 

Her eyebrows rose a fraction, then furrowed as understanding hit. “If this is the _special project_ I funded in January, I’ll have you know—”

“It’s not. Merlin, woman, do you have to be so difficult?” He turned the globe over, ensured that the bottom dial was properly set, and forced it upside down into her right hand. She steadied it with her left, one hand on top, one hand on bottom. Draco seized the opportunity and covered her hands with his own. Their eyes met. 

“Try not to panic,” he advised. 

“What?” 

Draco tipped the globe, and the world around them disappeared in a whirl of rich mahogany and bright sunlight.

Hermione stumbled as she landed in fine, white sand. Draco caught her by the arms, steadying her as she straightened. 

“What the…” 

They looked out onto a limitless azure sea. The water rippled with gentle waves that broke upon the shore with a soft _shush_. The beach curved toward them, and they turned in tandem to follow its line. The island was small, an almost perfect circle, bare except for a cluster of palm trees. Two canvas hammocks hung in their shade, swinging lazily. Between them sat a red ice chest. 

“Draco, what is this?” 

“Your escape.” He curled an arm around her waist. “You didn’t take a holiday last year. You claimed not to have the time.” 

She turned toward him, a hand on his chest, brown eyes pleading. It was a recurring argument, the rare point of friction in their otherwise surprisingly uncomplicated partnership. 

“I _didn’t_ ,” she said. “You know I wanted to, but I just _couldn’t_ —”

He smiled and dropped a kiss onto her cheek, the gentle gesture curtailing her explanation. 

“I don’t want to argue about it,” he said. “I want to _fix_ it. This is a holiday on your schedule. The timer on the globe’s underside can be set anywhere between ten and sixty minutes, and it’s irreversible. Once you’re here, you’re stranded. No scrolls, no Floo calls, no meetings. Just you and the ocean.” 

“And you.” Hermione wound her fingers through his, and Draco felt a glimmer of hope. 

“You’re not angry?” 

“Oh no,” she said with a quiet laugh. “I’m quite annoyed. I was approaching peak productivity, and this unexpected foray has set me back. I’ll need to make up the time later tonight. But it’s been a long week, and I don’t want to argue either. So if we’re stranded here, we might as well make the best of it. How long do we have?” 

“Thirty minutes.”

“And what’s in the ice chest?” 

“I don’t know. It’s your vacation.” 

Hermione smiled and considered the chest. “Tequila, then. My favorite blanco. Pour me a finger or two, would you? And remove your trousers while you’re at it.” 

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. “What was that?” 

“We’re making the best of it.” Hermione’s hand snaked down his front and gave his genitals a friendly squeeze. “Or are you not interested in hammock sex?” 

“I’m interested,” Draco said. He leaned close and kissed her, her lips as warm as sunshine and soft as a breeze. “Perhaps I should surprise you more often.” 

“Or perhaps I should get a new assistant.” She grinned and pushed him toward the hammocks. “Now strip, my darling husband: we’re on the clock.”

**The End**


End file.
